Here Take My Sweater
by EmAndHerPen
Summary: AU college!Samcedes. Mercedes transfers to a small college after NYC doesn't live up to her expectations. Little does she know, she's caught the eye of a certain blonde barista. Has she piqued more than just his curiosity? Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Glee. If I did it'd be _very_ different.**

**A/N: Hey guys! I've decided to start another multi-chapter fic for the hiatus. It'll keep me sane and hopefully keep you guys entertained! I've been wanting to do something a little AU and also some college Samcedes, so here's my attempt at both of those things while also getting to write about two of my favorite brOTP's. Oh, and btw, you can expect a SOSN update before the end of the week :)**

**Flashbacks are in italics, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>She was <em>strange<em>.

Maybe that wasn't the best word for it, but it was the first word that came to mind. Strange as in different; he didn't mean it in a bad way. It's just that most people in the Pennsylvania college-town could be pegged as one of a few "types" within several short minutes of making their acquaintance - especially the girls.

"Um, _hello_? I've only been waiting for my latté for, like, an _hour_…"

_Case in point_, Sam thought, grudgingly finishing the latté art leaf on the girl's order before she snatched it up in a huff. The vast majority of Greyson College students were trust fund babies who thought the Ivies were too "mainstream" for their tastes. Greyson was rather selective for being a smaller liberal arts school.

Sam Evans was in his second year of studies towards a double major in finance and statistics; after struggling with dyslexia growing up, he'd been surprised and comforted by how well he took to numbers. Figures, formulas and statistics were cut and dry; there was always an answer, and it always made sense.

Quite honestly, there were times he felt that he compartmentalized most of his life into neat sections. From a young age, gray areas and uncertainty were unsettling to him in a major way. He supposed it had to do with the abundance of instability he experienced. When Sam's parents passed away in an accident ten years ago, he'd been sent to live with his mother's sister.

The grief, coupled with his dyslexia, hadn't made for a pleasant childhood. So now he was of the belief that quantifying and categorizing were the keys to living a normal, stable life. As his aunt always said, "Everything in its place and a place for everything."

But for the life of him, he could _not_ place her.

"Alright you two, I'm headed out for an appointment, I should be back in an hour. Remember, keep things-"

"Clean and serene," finished Sam. "We know, Auntie Em, don't worry about us!"

"Yeah Miss E, we got this," said the brunette at the register, "you know I wouldn't let Sam mess things up."

"Gee _thanks_, San." Sam made a face at his friend who, in turn, gave him an unapologetic shrug.

"_Mhmm._" The petite redhead laughed, eyeing her nephew and his friend dubiously before nodding goodbye, fastening the last button on her fall jacket before heading out.

"What was that? You know I'm practically as crazy-neat as she is! And I've never let anything happen to this place." He watched as the lithe girl leisurely finished the line she was reading and marked her place in the book before looking up at him.

"I was just joking. _Christ, _Sam, unclench…" Santana smirked at him, the smallest hint of worry flickering in her eyes.

Sam let out a sigh, leaning against the counter. "I know, I know…it's just…she's been doing so well lately, you know?" He gripped the counter, tightly. "With the therapy and the medication, she's really been able to just _let go_ somewhat. I don't want to do anything to set her off."

Seeing him tense and worried was deeply troubling to Santana. No matter how much of a protector he grew up to be, she could never forget that skinny, terrified little boy who showed up in her fifth grade classroom. She'd saved him after he was teased and tripped during a game of kickball at recess; his tormentors were bullies and cowards, but they'd never hit a girl – that was her advantage. They'd been best friends ever since, and seeing him get anxious about his aunt pained her.

"Hey now," she said, softly, "she's gonna be just fine. You said it yourself, she's doing so much better." She rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "And you've been helping her so much, it's wonderful. But remember, she is a grown woman, and she can take care of herself."

But that was just it: Sam wasn't sure how well she'd manage if he wasn't there with her at least some of the time. Ever since he came to live with Emma Pillsbury, he'd noticed that she had some strange habits. Her townhouse was always impeccably clean and in order; it reminded him of a museum. The only rule she gave him upon his arrival was that he returned everything the way he left it – clean and serene.

The little quirks she had grew into full blown OCD a little over a year ago when her boyfriend of three years, Will, left her for his high school sweetheart. It turned out that he'd been seeing her for a year behind Emma's back, and Terri was four months pregnant with his child.

She desperately attempted to make up for her lack of control over her emotions by obsessively controlling the cleanliness of her surroundings. His first semester of college was rough; balancing school and practically running the Daily Grind hadn't been easy.

Last winter she began to see someone about her condition, and she'd been slowly but surely getting back to her old self. Every now and then, when she was under a lot of stress, it would flare up something awful, but they got through it together.

Emma had once confessed to him that she was afraid he'd resent her for having to help her through this. He'd immediately assured her that after taking him in and _raising _him when he had no one else, this was the least he could do. Thankfully, things were going much more smoothly for them of late.

"You're right, San. It's just that I'm really protective of her, you know? Not everybody can be strong all the time."

"You should try telling yourself that some time," Santana raised an eyebrow at him, "you have the biggest hero complex I've ever seen."

"Two semesters of introductory psychology courses and she thinks she has her doctorate," he muttered, dodging a dishtowel she flung at him.

"Don't get smart with me. I love you, but I _will_ hurt you." Empty threats were Santana's specialty. She was about as dangerous as a toothless puppy; she could try and gum him to death, but it would never be more than annoying.

"Sure..." Sam ignored the glare she was no doubt giving him and began to wipe down the equipment. It wasn't long before his eyes drifted back to the corner where she sat.

She'd been coming in regularly for the last few weeks. He was certain he hadn't seen her before then; he _definitely_ would've remembered pouring _her_ coffee. Sam had no idea what her name was, but in his head she was Beanie Babe – B.B. for short – because of the slouchy wine colored beanie she always wore on her dark curls. She was curled up in the plush, oversized armchair in the corner by one of the bay windows, engrossed in small book. It seemed to be her favorite spot.

His eyes raked over her figure. She dressed simply, but her style had a lot more personality than the budget busting designer wardrobes that were typical on campus. Today she had on a cream colored dress that stopped just below her knees, with tiny buttons going up the front, and long sleeves that she folded and cuffed just below her elbows. Dark lacy tights covered her legs, and on her feet were dark brown boots. Her only accessory was the charm bracelet on her right wrist.

She was…_warm_. That was the only thing he could think of when he looked at her. B.B. seemed to radiate warmth: from her brown skin to the dazzling smile she gave him whenever he handed her her coffee. And yet, with all of this warmth about her, he also sensed something inherently sad; he just couldn't figure out what. It was killing him.

"Stare any harder and _I'll_ file the restraining order."

He whipped back around to find Santana watching him with a gaze that was equal parts smug and curious. He'd been caught.

"_Ha_. You're a piece of work, you know that?" Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the blush from creeping into his cheeks.

"Whatever, at least I'm not the one who's stuck casting longing glances at a chick because I'm too chickenshit to talk to her." She put her book down on the counter and leaned against it, hand on hip. "Though it's probably for the best – you have _no_ game."

"Shut up! It's not like that…she's just…_different_ you know? It's weird, I don't know…"

"_Weird?_" she scoffed, "I was wrong, you have _negative_ game. Christ."

"_Oh_ my g-" his tirade was cut short by a customer. Santana quickly turned on the sickeningly sweet charm that made her popular with the patrons and took the older man's order while chatting amicably about his beloved grandson. He quickly steamed the milk for the macchiato, poured the drink, and handed the man his order with a smile before turning back to his friend.

"Look," he sighed, "What I meant was I don't-"

"Don't tell me you don't have the hots for her; she's clearly attractive. A bit plumper than your usual, but deliciously so…" she trailed off, biting her lip as she gazed over to the corner.

Sam panicked when he saw something akin to desire flash in Santana's eyes. Sometimes having a lesbian as his best friend sucked. _Not that it matters_, he told himself, _because I don't like B.B. in that way._

"Like I was trying to say before I was _rudely_ interrupted, I really don't. I just think there's something different about her. I mean, you constantly bitch about Greyson girls being the same, you should know what I'm trying to say."

Santana cast another glance at her, and this time her eyes lingered. Sam chose to ignore a sudden jealous twinge.

"You're right," she murmured, eyes still fixed on the girl. "I'm just not sure what it is," she mused.

"Exactly," he huffed, exasperated. "That's what's driving me nuts. I need to know what makes B.B. tick…"

"Wait, so you _have_ talked to her? Liar!"

"No, I haven't…why would you say that?"

"You just called her B.B., that's her name, isn't it? You so talked to her!"

Sam's face was burning with embarrassment. "_No…_it's…um," he stammered, "It's kind of what I call her in my head…" he explained, the last of his words drowned out by Santana's raucous laughter.

* * *

><p>Mercedes Jones had been in the zone for a good hour until loud laughter shattered her concentration. Carefully marking her place, she looked up to find a girl doubled over in mirth next to a boy whose face was kind of red. She caught him turning to look at her, but he quickly turned back around when he saw that she'd noticed. That only made his friend laugh harder.<p>

She sighed and chewed on her lip, attempting to focus on Plato's _Symposium_, and failing. Her face grew hot at the thought of the two behind the counter talking about her – making fun of her, no doubt.

Moments like this made her miss New York. Mercedes had been so excited to be accepted to New York University; she had big dreams of becoming an author, and it was a pretty good place to get her start. What she hadn't counted on, however, was hating almost everything about it.

Nothing was centralized; there was no main campus. The school was essentially a bunch of buildings strewn out over dozens of city blocks. She had to fight to get any time with professors or advisors, and even though she was rather outgoing, she hadn't clicked with anyone in a major way. Her freshman year was overwhelming at best.

She loved the city, of course. It was her refuge; the school made her feel insignificant and lonely, whereas the city did just the opposite. It was kind of ironic, seeing as it was so big and densely populated, but that was its magic. You may be an individual out there on your own, but so is everyone else, and there is a comfort and sense of community in that. She felt less alone when she was exploring the Village by herself than she did during classes, group projects, and floor activities. The city was her friend.

Ultimately, she decided no matter how much she loved the city, her education would suffer if she wasn't happy with her school. After a long talk with her parents, she decided that Greyson would be a great choice. Though Mercedes was excited that her transfer application was accepted, she'd been sad to leave everything the city had to offer behind.

But now, about a month and a half into the semester, she was certain she made the right call where her education was concerned. The school was _maybe_ a fifth of the size of NYU, if that, which meant plenty of office hours, actual professors lecturing introductory courses (not teacher's assistants), and she had an actual campus with _grass_. It felt right in every way the other university hadn't. Of course, not everything was perfect. The student body here was far less racially and socio-economically diverse than at NYU, a fact that hit her as soon as she moved in.

She was one of _maybe_ 10 students of color in her entire dorm, and one of the only girls who didn't own a handbag worth roughly the same as a semester's tuition.

All in all, she made a wise choice, and she knew she wouldn't regret it. Except, apparently, when she's openly mocked in a coffee shop.

Mercedes fiddled self-consciously with the charms on her bracelet, trying her best to avoiding looking over at the pair behind the counter; she hated feeling like this. Granted, it didn't happen often – she loved herself. She loved her chubby, curvy body and its warm brown skin, her full lips, and her wild curls. Self-esteem was never a problem for her because she was taught to love her body and all it did for her each day.

But even the most body-positive amongst us have their weak moments. She chastised herself for jumping to conclusions; maybe they weren't even talking about her. For all she knew they could have just been laughing amongst themselves and she happened to catch him glancing out of the giant window behind her. After a few moments of rational contemplation, she felt downright silly and a little vain for thinking they could possibly be talking about her.

Mercedes jumped when she felt her phone buzz against her leg. Fishing it out from between her thigh and the cushion, she unlocked the screen to see there was a text message from Tina. "_Ru done w/ Prof. Parkin's assigned reading?"_

A smile instantly spread across her face. She'd met Tina Cohen-Chang during move-in: she was carting yet another bin into her room when a mess of long, dark hair and pale limbs zipped past her, almost knocking her down. Depositing the bin in her room, she strode down the hallway determined to give the girl a piece of her mind.

"_Oh, hi!" The girl popped out of room just as she was about to knock on her door. "Sorry about almost knocking you over back there," she grinned, sheepishly. "I'm Tina, by the way," she introduced herself with a dimpled smile, pulling Mercedes into a hug._

_All the frustration and anger she felt melted away in the girl's embrace; how could she stay mad at this ball of sunshine? "I'm Mercedes," she replied after stepping back from their hug, "room 404. Why were you in such a hurry?"_

_Tina's almond shaped eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh! The French Society is having an outdoor screening of _Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain _in about 20 minutes, and that was my last box."_

_Mercedes didn't even pretend to hide her enthusiasm. "Oh my god, I love _Amélie_!_"

_Tina grabbed her hands. "Let's go together!"_

_She was all set to accept the invitation when reality set in. "I want to," she frowned, "like so, _so_, badly…but I'm not done moving in. I have three more bins in my dad's car."_

_Tina smiled as she walked past her down the hall. "Well then let's hurry up and get those bins!"_

They found out later that week that they were in the same sophomore Classic Literature seminar, and the rest was history; they'd been inseparable since day one. Mercedes smiled, and texted her back, "_no, almost done tho, just a few more pgs."_

Tina was yet another way her college experience improved since transferring to Greyson. Mercedes assumed that she was bound to get close to _someone_ since the NYU student body was so large and diverse. And she had made a few friends, but they never got close. She always felt that the sheer size of the school made superficial relationships the way to go: why get close to someone when someone better could come along?

But this friendship with Tina, especially the way they bonded so effortlessly, was exactly what she needed. She'd met a host of other amazing people through her that she couldn't wait to get to know better. This is what Mercedes pictured her college experience being like; to be honest, the past month and a half was already socially better than her entire freshman year.

Locking her phone, she smiled at the picture it displayed: it was a shot of her and Tina from last weekend. It was her birthday, so Tina decided to take her to a karaoke bar along with a few of their friends from their floor. She learned two things that night: older men love buying college girls drinks, and Tina has an amazing set of pipes_. _They regaled the delighted bar patrons with duet after duet, surprised and excited by how wonderful their voices sounded together. It was one of the best nights of her life. The picture on her phone was one a floormate snapped of them mid-song.

Scolding herself for letting her mind wander, she turned her attention to a page she'd been attempting to read for the last fifteen minutes. The book was interesting, but she just couldn't get herself to focus – and the buzzing of her phone certainly wasn't helping. It was another text message from Tina: "_sounds good! Come home so we can outline it together. Thai takeout for dinner, my treat. 7ish? And if ur at the DG, don't flirt too hard with latte boy ;)"_

The first time Mercedes came to the Daily Grind to study she had brought Tina with her. After hearing the soft jazz music and seeing the calming atmosphere with its plush seating, warm colors, and exposed brick walls, she knew she'd found her spot. Tina, however, decided to spend their time filling her in on the dirty secrets of every student that came in for a coffee and talking about the cute guy who usually worked as the barista.

She thanked heaven that he wasn't working that day, because she was certain he would have overheard Tina trying to get her to ask out someone she hadn't even met. Of course her friend had managed to make each time she picked up her coffee from that day forward the tiniest bit awkward. Mercedes made sure to give him a genuine smile and thank you, but inside all she could hear was Tina talking about how he must be hung because holy hell look at his hands.

When she asked her why _she_ hadn't made a move on him yet, all she'd gotten was an "Um, he's not my type…" accompanied by a sly smile and a shrug.

Mercedes glanced at the time; it was almost a quarter 'til six, and her dorm was only a ten-minute walk away. She'd have plenty of time. _"How can I say no to that?" _she typed out, adding a smiley face before sending the text. Dinner plans settled, she yet again attempted to focus on the book. A few minutes later she was mentally congratulating herself for making it to the next page when a strange feeling passed over her.

That's when she saw them: a pair of black converse right in front of the chair.

Letting her gaze slowly travel upwards, she took in the dark wash jeans, the fitted black t-shirt with "The Daily Grind" scrawled across a broad chest, and finally a ruddy, boyishly handsome face with a mop of dirty blond hair and a pair of piercingly green eyes.

She was face to face with Latté Boy.

* * *

><p><strong>Beanie Babe and Latté Boy for life.<strong>

**I'd love it if you took a minute to review and tell me whether you're feeling it or not, and what you'd like to see/what you think I have in store for these characters.**

**Bonus points for anyone who knows where I got the title of the fic from!**

**- Em**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: on first page**

**A/N: Hey everyone! I wasn't expecting the huge response I got, it's so wonderful! I'm glad so many of you are already invested in where this story is going, and I promise it'll be a good one. So many of you guessed correctly, the title of the fic is from Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am" - it's one of my favorite songs. This update is a little shorter than the first chapter, but I had to cut it off where I did because of what's happening in the next one. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"<em>Santana<em>! Shut the fuck up, you're making a scene," Sam hissed at his best friend. She was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as deep belly laughs made her shoulders shake.

"_I- I can't,_" she managed to choke out before dissolving into another fit of giggles. He rolled his eyes and turned around to see if Santana was disturbing any of the patrons when he saw her look up at him. He whipped back around and glared at the laughing girl.

"_San_, seriously, stop! She's looking at us, she's gonna know!"

The brunette took a few deep breaths to steady herself before facing him with an arched brow. "You can't be serious, Sam. You do realize that she has no way of knowing what you said from halfway across the room. For all she knows, you could have just told me the funniest joke known to man. Of course that would require you actually being _funny_…but she doesn't know you."

"You can be so fucking obnoxious," he muttered, busying himself with refilling the sugar and honey containers on the counter to keep her from seeing his embarrassment at overreacting to her laughter. "You're lucky you're cute, or else I wouldn't keep you around. It's good for my image"

"_What image_?" Santana scoffed, dodging the sugar packet he tossed at her. "And thanks for stating the obvious, but you're not exactly my type," she grinned.

"Ha."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, filling the orders of a group of students that came in buzzing about some movie they'd just been to see. Sam was glad to see that one of them left a sizeable tip in the jar by the register; it was one of the few perks of going to school with people who didn't know the value of a dollar. He supposed he should be thanking his lucky stars that someone hadn't opened a Starbucks in the small town.

"You know what I think…" Santana began, taking a blueberry scone from one of the glass-domed stands that displayed the shop's pastries. Sometimes Sam was convinced that she only took this job for the access it afforded her to sweets. How she managed to eat twice what he did and be so skinny, he'd never know.

"No…and I'm not sure I want to," he admitted.

"_Funny_. Look, just hear me out here." She bit into the scone and smiled; Sam had known her for a long time, and very few things put that genuine of a smile on her face as often as the first bite of something delicious. He thought it was adorable, but he never told her that – she'd probably smack him. "I think you should go talk to her-"

"_No._"

"_Sam-_"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he murmured, not meeting her eyes. "And before you say anything, it's _not_ because I'm attracted to her."

"Fine," she sighed, putting up her hands in surrender, "let's go with your lie about not being attracted to her. You can't say that she doesn't pique your interest in some way, so would it be such a bad thing to go introduce yourself? You could satisfy your curiosity and make a friend at the same time."

He hated to admit it, but she had a point. "I guess you're right," he conceded, grudgingly. "Besides, it couldn't hurt to make a new friend. You're getting a little grating for my taste." Sam ignored her mock gasp of hurt and headed to the back to wash his hands. He dried his hands off and took off his apron before heading over to the mystery girl.

She was engrossed in the small book when he approached her, and he instantly felt awkward about interrupting her study session. He almost turned to go back behind the counter when he saw Santana shoot him a warning glance. Sam made a mental note to kill her at some point in the near future, after giving her a thank you hug.

"Hey there," he said amiably. She didn't move her eyes from the book, so he cleared his throat a few times. When she still didn't respond he felt his confidence drain as the awkwardness built. Was she ignoring him? Sam was close to giving up entirely when he saw her eyes shift from the book to his shoes, then rake slowly up his body until they came to rest on his face. He inhaled sharply, somehow feeling naked under the scrutiny of her doe eyed gaze.

"Oh," she said, finally, "hello there." She marked her place in the book and then gave him her patented warm smile, and he returned it with one of his own.

"Hi, I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm Sam, by the way," he introduced himself, extending his hand to her.

"I'm Mercedes," she said, giving his hand an impressively firm shake.

"Nice to meet you, Mercedes." _Mercedes_…he liked that name. He would never have guessed it, but for some reason he couldn't imagine her being named anything else.

"Have a seat, Sam," she urged him, gesturing to the empty chair beside her. He sat, trying not to think about how much he liked the way she said his name.

"So are you new here? I haven't seen you around until recently."

"Yup," she replied, shifting in her chair to face him. "I just transferred at the beginning of the semester."

He knew it; she had to be a transfer, he'd have seen her before. "Oh, that's cool. Where'd you transfer from?"

"NYU."

Sam was stunned. "_Seriously_?"

"_Yeah_…" she said, a bit of an edge to her voice, "Why? Do I not seem like I could be an NYU student?"

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant," he said, hurriedly. _Great job insulting her, Sam; this has to be a record time_, he chastised himself. "I just don't know why someone would leave a prestigious school in the middle of New York City for Greyson." He was relieved to see her relax at his explanation.

"Oh. To be perfectly honest, it was just too big, and it didn't live up to my expectations," she admitted. "And I like it much better here. There's just something about it."

"Fair enough." Sam shifted in his seat, weighing whether he wanted to say the one thing that's been on his mind. "I kind of figured you were new."

"How so?" Mercedes inquired, head tilted at an adorable angle. _Adorable? Jesus, Sam…get it together._

He paused, choosing his words. "You seem…authentic." Sam shrugged, an embarrassed smile spreading across his face. "That might sound weird, seeing as I literally introduced myself to you less than five minutes ago, but it's true. You just seem kind of _real_ and settled in who you are in a way that's definitely not the norm around here." He paused, hoping she'd react well to the fact that he basically told her he'd been thinking about and assessing her from afar.

"Thanks," she beamed at him, "that's really sweet of you to say." Sam almost sagged in relief. "So, you've been watching me, hmm?" Mercedes teased.

"I'm just really observant," Sam murmured, blushing as she laughed

Her laugh was so infectious he couldn't help but join in. "I think it's sweet, Sam."

"Why thank you, Mercedes," he replied, with a grin.

The pair fell into easy conversation and learned considerable amount about each other. Sam listened while Mercedes told him about her year at NYU and her experiences so far at Greyson. He laughed when she did impressions of her father's dramatic relief that her transfer school was also within driving distance from their New Jersey home and her little sister's hysterics every time she had to leave home at the end of a break. It caught him off guard how much Mercedes' face lit up when she talked about her major or the book she was starting to write. He decided the way her eyes sparkled and her nose scrunched up so the little stud caught the light was adorable, his inner monologue be damned.

Sam surprised himself by telling her the story of how he came to live with his aunt; he usually didn't like to talk about it. Something about her made him so comfortable that it seemed like a natural place to begin telling her about himself. He appreciated the genuine empathetic concern on her face as he recounted the tale of the accident; if there's one thing he couldn't stand, it was the pity people tried to mask as concern when they learned of his situation. He also talked about his struggle with dyslexia and how it led him to discover his aptitude for mathematics. Sam wasn't sure why, but it felt like he was having a conversation with someone he'd known for a few years, not a few minutes.

He was enjoying her story about her recent birthday when she paused.

"Shit!" Mercedes looked down at her phone before looking up with an apologetic expression. "Sorry! It's just that I have to meet a friend for a dinner study date in half an hour and I still have a few pages to get through." She grinned sheepishly. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Yeah, it definitely flew by," he agreed, trying to ignore the weird pang of jealousy he felt at the word _date_. "I didn't mean to take up too much of your time."

"Oh please," she waved his apology away, "it was fun. You're quite interesting, Sam…"

"Evans. Sam Evans," he said with a smile. "As are you, Mercedes…"

"Jones. Mercedes Jones," she said, in a pretty impressive James Bond impression at which he couldn't help but grin. "Oh, and feel free to interrupt me any time. But next time, be a gentleman and bring a beverage with you," Mercedes sassed with a flirtatious smirk.

"Yes ma'am," he replied in his best imitation of a Southern drawl, getting up to leave.

"Oh, and, Sam?" He stopped and looked back at her.

"You're cute, but leave the accents and impressions to _me_," she teased. He broke out in a dopey grin and nodded, heading to his place behind the counter.

Sam tied his apron back on and helped Santana finish the batch of orders she had been working on. Once everyone in line was served, he turned to see Mercedes gathering the last of her belongings. She caught his gaze and smiled, waving goodbye. He returned the wave and watched her leave the shop. Turning back, he noticed Santana watching him with an eyebrow raised and a hand on her hip.

"What?"

"You're a horrible liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You. Are. A. Horrible. Liar."

"I _heard_ you, you jerk," he rolled his eyes, "but I'm not lying to you."

"You like her."

"Do not."

"Oh _yeah_? Then why is that dopey ass grin still on your face?"

She had him there. "Shut up," he muttered, turning to straighten the stock on the shelves behind him so she wouldn't see the blush creep into his cheeks. Suddenly, he realized that it was practically seven and his aunt hadn't come back from her appointment. It wasn't like her to be late; she was punctual with a schedule as neat as her home. Sam was starting to worry.

"Don't you think it's weird Aunt Em isn't back?" he asked Santana.

Her eyes widened in realization. "Holy shit, I didn't realize – it's been like two hours hasn't it?"

Sam was about to confirm that it had when Emma walked through the door.

"Hey you two," she chirped, brightly, "everything alright?"

"Yeah, Miss E…"

"Wonderful!" Emma smiled brightly at them, her cheeks flushed, and eyes sparkling. "I'm going to take care of some paperwork until about eight. If you need me I'll be in the office," she told them before breezing up the stairs.

Sam and Santana shared a look of utter surprise. She was never like this, especially after coming back from therapy; she was usually quiet and lost in thought.

"That was _weird_, right…"

"Definitely."

* * *

><p>Mercedes picked up the pace, hating that she was already five minutes late. Tina wouldn't necessarily care, but she prided herself on being punctual, especially considering she was raised in a family that might as well have set their clocks to "CP" time.<p>

She found herself fighting a losing battle to keep a sappy grin off her face when she replayed her conversation with Sam in her head. While she wasn't sure what made him approach her out of the blue, she was certainly glad he did. Mercedes hadn't expected Latté Boy to be so…_candid_. Sam was an open book; it was really very refreshing. He had her doing dorky impressions of her family members all of thirty minutes after she'd learned his name; she wasn't sure what to make of that level of natural comfort.

Of course it didn't hurt that he was especially easy on the eyes. Mercedes appreciated the way he didn't seem to realize how handsome he really was, or if he did it wasn't apparent. It made him that much more attractive. Then there was the way that he took all the negative things he's had to deal with in stride. It didn't seem like he really let any of it get to him; if anything he spun his circumstances into strengths. And she absolutely loved the way his face softened when he talked about his aunt; his affection for her was so endearing.

It scared Mercedes to think about how much they had learned about each other in under an hour, both from the stories they told and the way in which they told them. But it was a good kind of scary – the best kind – it left her wanting more.

She swiped into her dorm, rode the elevator to the eighth floor, and stepped into the common room. Tina had her notes out and was digging into some pad thai.

"Thanks for waiting, T," she said sarcastically, dropping her bag and sitting next to her. "What did you get me?"

"You're welcome," Tina grinned impishly. "The usual: pad kee mao with chicken," she replied, pointing towards the unopened take-out container with her chopsticks.

They ate in silence for a while until Mercedes noticed Tina had stopped eating and was openly staring at her.

"What?"

"Nothing…"

"Stop lying to me. What is it?"

"_Nothing_."

Mercedes rolled her eyes and went back to eating. The girls talked about classes and an upcoming talent show they were considering signing up for. There was no doubt their duet would win the five hundred dollar cash prize. They decided it would be a good idea to do it, even if they didn't win it would be fun, and they had a couple of weeks to pick a song and prepare. It was during another comfortable lull in the dinner conversation that Mercedes once again caught Tina staring at her.

"Oh my _god._"

Mercedes had had about enough of Tina's weirdness. "Good Lord Tina, _what_?"

"You talked to him."

The brown skinned girl decided it would be a perfect time to study the bright colors of the vegetables in her noodle dish.

"You _did_! I _knew_ it!" Tina shot her a smug smile. "You probably flirted with him too, didn't you?"

"I-"

"Don't deny it. You're the best kind of flirt – subtle and natural. You probably don't even realize you're doing it."

"_Tina_!"

Tina was thoroughly enjoying flustering her usually unshakable friend. "Out with it, then. _Spill_."

Mercedes sighed and sunk back into her seat. She knew that Tina wouldn't give up until she heard the whole story; there was no use fighting it. So she told her everything, from noticing his shoes to waving goodbye, in as much detail as she could. And as soon as she began recounting their meeting, that sappy grin was back to being plastered across her face.

"Oh my god."

Mercedes didn't believe that anyone in the world was more dramatic than her younger sister until she met Tina. Though at least her friend's brand of dramatics was somewhat endearing – her sister just made her want to constantly roll her eyes.

"What now, Tina…"

"You like him."

"I do n-"

"Girl, if you don't stop lying to me right this second…"

"I think he's interesting, and that he could be a great friend. And sure, he is ridiculously good looking-"

"See!"

"_But_ anyone with eyes would say that about him. He's like the dictionary definition of attractive." _Especially his smile, _she thought to herself. Her mind wandered to his winning smile and the way it crinkled the corner of his eyes, and the stark cherry coloring of his lips against his pale skin. He had quite the mouth.

It was Tina's turn to roll her eyes. "_Okay_. We'll pretend you're not drooling while thinking of him right now." She laughed while dodging the notebook Mercedes threw at her.

"Let's just get to work, Mercedes muttered, avoiding her eyes. She was relieved when Tina pulled out her notes and they began to outline their assigned chapters. She knew her friend wouldn't leave this alone for long, but she'd take the momentary reprieve from her assumptive interrogation. Quite honestly, she didn't know how she felt about him; she didn't know how she could decide based on a forty-five minute conversation. What Mercedes did know, however, was that she couldn't wait to see him again.

* * *

><p><strong>As AU as this fic is, denial is trait that followed Mercedes into this story, haha. And it seems Sam's caught the bug too.<strong>

**Next chapter we find out what made Emma so damn happy, one of them stops lying to themselves, and we learn a little something _interesting_ about one of the pair's best friends.**

**As always, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you take a little time to tell me what you think in the reviews!**

**-Em**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: on first page**

**A/N: Sorry this is updated so late :( So in a way, this is the last of the "set-up" chapters. The updates after this will be a bit longer, and might just be from either Sam's or Mercedes' perspectives. This was fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it! Please forgive any errors.**

* * *

><p>At five minutes to nine Sam gave the few remaining patrons a friendly reminder that the shop was due to close for the day. He waved goodbye as he locked the door. Santana and Sam made quick work of putting away the remaining pastries and cleaning up the equipment; they were always grateful for Emma's 'clean as you go' policy at closing, it made everything go much faster. It also helped that they sang and danced along with a top 40 station, even if Santana made fun of Sam's moves. Soon they finished up and split the night's sizeable tips. Santana called a quick goodbye up to Emma's office and hugged Sam before heading out to her dorm, promising to text him upon arrival.<p>

Sam climbed the stairs to Emma's office and entered to find her smiling as she typed. When he was in middle school, this was his favorite part of the day; he'd sit in her office and do his homework, then go catch a pick-up game at the park a few minutes away until dinner. The Greyson students would humor him by sitting and chatting with him as he ate, and of course he bragged about hanging out with college kids at school, elevating his stock.

If the shop wasn't too busy, Emma would let him work the register for the last hour or so. Sam would challenge himself by trying to figure out the exact amount of change to give the customer before the amount came up on the register's screen. Then after they closed up, they'd tally the day's receipts and she'd let him lock the lockbox in the bottom right hand drawer of her desk. It made him feel important, like he was finally able to do something for her and the business.

He pulled a chair up to the side of her desk, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips as he tallied the day's receipts – all by himself, now that he was all grown up. He secured everything in the lockbox and watched as Emma continued to type with the same sappy nostalgic grin he no doubt couldn't get off his face.

"So are you gonna tell me what's going on or what?" He waited a beat , but she still didn't break from typing. _What is it today with women ignoring me, _he grumbled to himself. "_Auntie Em!"_

Emma looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. "Oh my goodness! I'm sorry, Sam. I was just a bit focused." She smiled up at him.

"No kidding," he grinned, "so what has you all giddy and _focused_, hmm? I know it's not just therapy. You were an hour late, and you're never late." Sam couldn't believe it when she began to blush.

"Nothing too big. I just ran into someone I used to know, that's all," she murmured.

Sam felt the dread in the pit of his stomach when his mind jumped to Will. It took him a good half a minute to realize that an encounter with him would never leave her this happy. "Um, who was it?" Sam asked delicately, trying to keep his tone light.

"Hmm? Oh, no one you know, just someone I went to high school with ages ago," she answered distractedly, typing once again. "There we are, all finished," Emma declared, sanitizing her workstation with an antibacterial wipe. "Everything in order downstairs?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied, vowing to himself to find out exactly who this high school acquaintance was. His phone buzzed in his pocket; he figured it was Santana's 'I'm home' text.

"Alright then, I'm headed home. See you in the morning." She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed her purse, and shrugged into her jacket. "I think Quinn's going to be a little late tomorrow, so it'd be lovely if you could stick around until she gets here, I might need the help."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, dear!" Emma called out as she descended the steps.

Sam took the keys from his pocket and locked the office door before heading down a narrow corridor to unlock the only other door on that floor. Letting out a tired sigh, he flopped back on his bed, checking Santana's text. If there was one thing he looked forward to lately, it was the first few minutes of solitude that he got to enjoy after locking his door.

When he graduated high school, Emma surprised him with his own little loft apartment above the coffee shop. She'd had men working up there for a month and lied telling him she was bringing things up to code for a possible future expansion. The day after graduation he helped her lock up and instead of heading down the stairs, she ripped the plastic construction curtain down and led him down the hallway to the dark green door, wordlessly handing him a key.

Sam unlocked the door and just stood in the middle of the space, speechless. It was an open plan space with a surprisingly high ceiling. The floors were made of a dark cherrywood and his desk a warm oak. There was a full size bed with a navy blue duvet, and a modern looking charcoal gray couch and matching armchair in what he guessed was the living area. To the left was a fairly spacious bathroom that could be entered through a large walk in closet.

He had spun around to face his aunt, still speechless and in disbelief that this could possible be for him. She'd had tears in her eyes when she explained that she figured he might like this a little better than the Greyson freshman dorms. Sam tackled her in a hug before she could finish speaking, lifting the petite woman up and spinning her in a circle. He truly didn't deserve such a wonderful space to himself, and he told her as much. Emma waved the thought away and chided his self-deprecation, telling him that after all they'd been through this was nothing. Sam moved in a week later.

Of course, living above the Daily Grind made it easier when he had to shoulder a lot more responsibility after Will devastated Emma about a month later. Having a place that was barely a ten-minute walk from campus meant he could sneak in midday naps between classes and check on his aunt. It made the difficult first semester easier on both him and Emma.

Satisfied that Santana had arrived at her dorm safely, he decided to jump in the shower before getting some work done. He emerged refreshed, and slipped on a pair of flannel pajama pants and his favorite Vampire Weekend t-shirt. Grabbing an apple and a jar of peanut butter, he sat down at his desk and began working on a statistics problem set that was due in a couple of days. He managed to work through a few problems before his mind began to drift.

Try as he might, he couldn't stop replaying his interaction with B.B. – Mercedes – in his head. Certain aspects of their encounter kept flashing in his mind's eye: the way she sat with one leg tucked under her, her infectious laughter, the dimple in her right cheek, the way her lashes rested on the tops of her cheeks when she looked down or closed her eyes. He'd always been detail oriented, but this was ridiculous.

Though their conversation had been quite short, he felt like he learned a lot about her, some of which he learned non-verbally. Upon further consideration Sam decided that he actually learned more about what she _wasn't_. Mercedes wasn't preoccupied with image or status; if she was, she would have done a lot more bragging about living in the city and going to NYU and a lot less explaining why it didn't fit. She wasn't self-important, and wasn't afraid to make fun of herself or make a fool of herself to add to the conversation. She didn't preen or constantly fuss with her hair or clothing, but had a relaxed and comfortable air about her.

In short, she was unlike a lot of the girls that approached him on campus, and that was something he greatly appreciated. Many Greyson girls thought the 'I'm hot, you're hot, we fit' approach was enough to snag him. Sam knew he looked like an empty-headed, pretty-boy jock, but that didn't mean he had to act like it.

Mercedes seemed genuinely interested when he told her about his major, not shocked that he was studying something so _serious_. And she talked so passionately about her writing, with a twinkle in her eye and almost breathless excitement. There was nothing pretentious or stuffy about her ambition; it was refreshing. She practically glowed and smiled this big, genuine smile the entire time. Sam decided it was quite pretty – _she_ was quite pretty.

_Where did that come from?_ She was interesting. Mercedes is a thoroughly fascinating person and he just wanted to get to know her, to satisfy his curiosity. _That's all_, he assured himself. Vowing to find out more about her tomorrow, he returned to his problem set.

Just as Sam settled into a working mood, he received a text from Santana. "_Btw, is Miss E okay?_" He smiled and sent her a reply that said not to worry, she was. Santana and his aunt had a bond that even he didn't fully understand.

After Santana saved him on his disastrous first day of fifth grade, he promised her some of his aunt's cookies for her bravery. That weekend she came over for a play date, took a bit of one of Emma's dark chocolate toffee chip cookies warm from the oven, and fell in love. Love might not be strong enough – it was more like an affectionate reverence with a dash of worship. At first Sam thought Santana was just his friend for the promise of baked goods for her insatiable sweet tooth. But as the weeks, months, and years rolled by, she remained his guardian, partner in crime, and confidant.

They spent countless afternoons studying, fighting, and laughing while covered in flour. Santana almost wept from happiness when Emma offered to give her baking lessons after seeing her inhale countless pastries. Sam usually joined them, but sometimes his aunt shooed him off to the park because they had things to discuss. By the time he came back on those afternoons Santana would be snuggled against Emma, smiling while munching on a pastry despite the fact that her eyes were a little puffy and red.

She spent more time at his house than she did at her own; they did their homework together almost every afternoon for eight years. She'd edit his papers and he'd correct her math homework. It was during one of these study sessions that she confessed her sexual preference. They were in ninth grade, doing homework at the kitchen table like any other afternoon. Santana handed back his corrected draft and said "Your writing is improving, Sammy. Also I like girls."

It came tumbling out, almost as if she couldn't stop it. Instantly, her face flushed and her eyes filled with tears and she regarded him warily, as if she was scared of what he might say or do. Sam simply shrugged and smiled at her, taking her hand telling her it was just another thing they had in common. She exhaled heavily and visibly relaxed, explaining that she'd been keeping it a secret since that past summer when she kissed a girl and it all fell into place. That weekend he was right there with her when she came out to her parents, and he was by her side every day after it came out at school. After all, she was more than overdue to be the one to have a little protecting.

When his aunt's OCD was at its worst and he couldn't be there because of class or an activity, Santana was there. He was often spread thin between school and the Daily Grind and other commitments. Santana would pray with her and keep her mind occupied, soothing her. Sam often felt like he'd never be able to repay her, even though she constantly reminded him that he had nothing to repay her for – they were practically family.

As much as Sam hated to admit it at times, she knew him well – sometimes better than he knew himself. Santana was also part of that rare, obnoxious breed of people who were always right – _always_ – and never let you forget it. His phone buzzed with a text, "_Good, I love her. Oh, & trust me Samuel u like her. Just go with it."_

_If she only knew, _he thought to himself. He would never hear the end of it…

* * *

><p>Mercedes was indescribably grateful she and Tina decided to complete the outline last night, because she aced the pop quiz Prof. Parkin sprung on them during seminar. Feeling victorious, she stepped out of the building into the gloriously warm fall day. It was beautiful out, so she decided to do a little reading on the quad before her next class. Ducking into her dorm, she grabbed a soft flannel blanket and a container of blueberries from her mini-fridge and laid out on the grassy quad.<p>

The weather was perfect: the sun warmed her back and the gentle breeze ruffled her curls. Munching on the berries, she began the second half of _Symposium_ and was a few pages in when she felt someone block her sun. Looking up, she recognized the lanky girl from the Daily Grind.

"I'm Santana," the girl smiled, "mind if I have a seat?" Mercedes shook her head and made room for her. Santana sat, stretching her long, jean short clad legs out, leaning back on her elbows and tilting her face towards the sun, eyes closed. "So, you're new here?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me about yourself."

Mercedes couldn't figure out why everyone had an interest in her story all of a sudden but she obliged, and Santana reciprocated. They made surprisingly pleasant conversation, discovering a mutual love for Sherlock Holmes. Apparently they also lived in the same dorm, three floors apart.

During their conversation, Mercedes happened to spy Sam rushing to class across the quad. She wanted to greet him, but he was a bit too far away for her to say hi without it being awkward. He was looking especially good in a pair of khaki shorts and a fitted Greyson tee, but he had on a preoccupied expression, like he had a lot on his mind. Mercedes found herself wondering if she was on his mind, and then instantly hated that she did. She turned to see Santana giving her a funny look.

"So, you've met Sam…"

Her heart jumped at her inquiry. "Yeah, we talked yesterday…he seems really nice."

"He is."

She decided to steer the conversation away from her for the moment. "You guys are pretty close, huh?"

"Yeah," Santana smiled, "we've been friends for a long time." She looked down and noticed the book in Mercedes' hand. "Oh man, you're taking Parkin's seminar? Lucky! I wish I could fit it in my schedule."

Mercedes let out a tiny sigh of relief as they fell into a discussion of the class. All of a sudden she caught a glimpse of Tina in her peripheral vision, turning to see her rushing towards them.

"Oh my god, so I had to have Parkin's TA grade the quiz in front of me. I just got too nervous, you know? But I _owned_- oh, hello," she said, turing to Santana.

"Hello to you too, T," Mercedes laughed. "This is Santana, you've probably seen her around. She works at the Daily Grind, and she lives in Harris Hall."

"Yeah," Tina said, in a strangely strangled voice. "Yeah," she began again after clearing her throat, "I've seen her around campus before. It's nice to meet you."

Santana seemed to pause, studying her for a moment before smiling and returning the sentiment. "I've gotta run to class, but I'll see you around Mercedes. And you too, Tina." She walked away, glancing back at the pair over her shoulder.

Tina shook her head as if clearing her thoughts, and turned to Mercedes. "I got an A, and so did you!"

"Tina Cohen-Chang, how could you _possibly_ know what I got?"

"I kind of flirt-bullied Artie into grading yours too," she flashed an unapologetic grin. "You know he has a soft spot for me, since I'm the most talkative pupil in his discussion section."

"You're the most talkative pupil on this campus," Mercedes snorted, dodging the playful swat her friend aimed at her. They discussed song choices for the upcoming talent show and set a date to outline the next chunk of the assigned reading at the end of the week before both of them had to run to class.

Mercedes found it next to impossible to concentrate in her two remaining lectures. All she wanted to do was get her afternoon latté. _Do you want the latté or Latté Boy,_ she asked herself. _Sam_, she reminded herself, _his name is Sam_. The last thing she needed to do is get so used to using that ridiculous nickname Tina made up that she let it slip in front of him. There'd be no recovering from that embarrassment, of that she was certain.

Once her last class let out she half ran, half walked to the Daily Grind, pausing a block away to compose herself, slightly mortified at her eagerness. Mercedes was surprised to see Santana and the owner of the shop, a petite redhead in an impeccably prim sweater set and skirt, behind the counter. There was no sign of Sam. She walked up to the register and ordered her usual, paying the owner who took the bills in latex glove clad hands. Mercedes watched as Santana steamed the milk for her latté.

"Hey Mercedes!"

"Hey," she greeted her, flashing a small smile.

"Well damn, nice to see you too…"

"Sorry-"

"It's alright," Santana cut in, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I know you were looking for someone a little taller and blonder." She gave Mercedes a knowing wink.

"_No_- no I wasn't," Mercedes protested.

"_Sure_," Santana grinned, handing her the mug of coffee.

Mercedes sat in her usual chair and sipped at the drink. It was definitely different, still good, but not as good as Latté Boy's. She decided that was probably why Tina gave him the ridiculous nickname in the first place. Nursing the brew, she contemplated what Santana said to her. Was she disappointed?

Yes. She was cautious and guarded with her heart, especially after her last boyfriend shattered it, but even before then. But above all things, she was honest, especially with herself. Mercedes didn't see any point in being any other way – she'd just be cheating herself. And the honest truth was that she liked him.

True, it had only been a short interaction, but ever since Tina's gossipy introduction she had her eye on him, whether she liked to admit it or not. Mercedes prided herself on being an excellent judge of character, and after years of quiet observation, it didn't take her very long to accurately gauge the general tone of someone's being. Of course it helped that Sam was practically an open book.

If his story had been hers, she didn't know that she'd be able to be as open as he had been. He had shared a lot of things with her that he didn't have to, especially during their first conversation. She liked what she knew, and she wanted to know more. It might be completely scary and strange, but she was quite taken with him already.

Mercedes figured that she wasn't going to get any work done sitting there wondering if he would come through the shop door, so she nodded goodbye to Santana and headed home. She managed to get through a few more pages of reading when she heard a knock on her door. Opening it, she found a pensive looking Tina and ushered her in worriedly. In the short time that she'd known her, she'd never seen her so quiet and small. Tina was usually almost constantly bright, bouncing and boisterous in a way she'd never quite seen.

Sensing that this was the time for alcohol first and words later, she offered her a beer. Tina simply grunted and bypassed her, reaching into the freezer of her mini-fridge for the emergency bottle of vodka and grabbing a shot glass from the shelf. Three shots later, she managed to talk, saying only that she had a weird day and she wasn't ready to talk about it, and requesting that Mercedes talk about her day instead.

Deciding it would cheer her up, she confessed that she had taken a liking to Sam. It did perk her up considerably, much to her relief. That is, until Tina took two more shots and decided they were going to end up married. Mercedes insisted that it was probably a good idea to at least know his middle name before making a registry, and her friend agreed that was fair. The pair snuggled up for a drunken impromptu 'How I Met Your Mother' marathon to take Tina's mind off of whatever it was that was bothering her. It worked for the most part, but Mercedes noticed that she still looked quite sad at times. Deciding not to push her tonight, she made a mental note to bring this back up at a better time and settled in, laughing at yet another one of Barney Stinson's pick-up schemes.

* * *

><p><strong>I can't tell you how many times me and my Tina have been in that "get me drunk now, play therapist later" situation, haha. It's what friends are for.<strong>

**In the next chapter they speak again, we discover what's eating at Tina, and we find out a little more about Emma's mystery friend.**

**Thanks for bearing with me! This is my first real AU, and it's gonna be an interesting ride :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: On first page**

**A/N: Hey, you guys! I know I've made you wait for quite some time for this update, I hope you're not too upset with me. The delay was due to circumstances beyond my control, I just haven't been feeling too well. But I hope that you're still interested, and that those of you wonderful people who take the time to read it enjoy it! I love you all, so much. I will try to update SOSN before the end of the weekend.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Shit<em>!"

Mercedes shot straight up in her bed, hair in her face, heart pounding. It took her a few minutes to realize that the shouted curse came from the blur of long black hair and pale limbs darting around her small room.

"Where are my shoes? _Fuck_, I'm gonna be so late…" Tina found her flats and slipped them on, looking up apologetically. "Sorry for waking you, Mercedes, but I'm late for Spanish. Gotta go!"

Sitting up, Mercedes wrapped the fluffy duvet cover a little closer and brushed some of her slept on curls out of her face. She figured that they must have fallen asleep during their marathon last night, it wouldn't be the first time they had an impromptu sleepover. Reaching over to her desk, she picked up her phone and checked the time: it was a quarter past nine. Tina had Friday morning Spanish class clear across campus in about fifteen minutes. She hoped her friend wouldn't be too late, and recited her weekly silent prayer of thanks that she had been able to avoid Friday classes altogether.

After trying unsuccessfully to get a little more sleep, Mercedes decided that she might as well start her day. She showered and sat at her desk in an oversized t-shirt and a little pair of shorts to put her clean, wet hair into little knots with a little coconut oil. As she worked she put her iTunes on shuffle, hoping to come across a few songs for her and Tina's talent show duet. Mercedes sang her way through an impressive number of songs, pausing to write a few titles down when they caught her interest. She also shot a text to Tina asking her to come back to her room after class.

She had just settled back onto the oversized beanbag in the corner of her room with a book when Tina came in and flopped back dramatically onto Mercedes' bed. A few silent moments later, she turned to face her friend and propped herself up on her elbow.

"I take it class sucked?"

"No, it was a breeze, _muy facil_. I'm just a little hung-over," she groaned. "Thanks for letting me crash last night by the way, I really didn't want to be alone."

"It's no problem, it was fun; 'drunk Tina' is adorable," Mercedes smiled, "you get all giggly and stuff. As for that hangover, there's water in the fridge and aspirin on the shelf. You should probably eat something too."

"Oh!" Tina reached down to her messenger bag and pulled out a large brown paper bag. "Speaking of food, I hope you haven't eaten yet, I picked up breakfast on the way home." She pulled out a couple of bagels, a container of fruit salad, and two bottles of apple juice. Tina joined Mercedes on the floor and they discussed the songs Mercedes selected earlier as they ate, narrowing down the existing list and adding a few new options.

They moved up to sit on the bed and played around with harmonies as Mercedes wove an intricate French braid into Tina's thick, dark locks. She smiled as she felt her friend relax against her legs; playing with Tina's hair was a surefire way to relax her, and Mercedes figured that if she was going to bring up whatever it was that drove her to drink last night, she'd need to be a little relaxed.

"So, T…" she began, hesitantly, "about last night…"

"What about it?"

Mercedes frowned as she felt her begin to tense back up. There was a bit of an edge to her voice; she sounded guarded in a way that she hadn't heard before. She wondered if it would be wise to press the issue instead of just letting Tina come to her when she was ready.

"I- well I, um…" Mercedes stuttered. She took a deep breath and started over. "Look, I just really hated seeing you like that, it wasn't like you at all, so I figured something must be wrong. I know we haven't been friends for years and years or anything, but I know that if something was wrong I would feel comfortable coming to you. You make me feel at ease, T – it feels like we've known each other for so much longer than two months, you know?"

"Yeah, definitely." Tina flashed a small, warm smile.

"So I guess what my rambling, sappy ass is trying to say is that I care about you too much to ever see you like that again, and if you want to talk, I'm here to listen," Mercedes half mumbled, flustered, "I just really love you, okay?"

She watched as Tina turned to face her completely, her smooth cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with unshed tears. She sat Indian-style, fidgeting with the end of her long braid, her eyes in her lap. A few times she looked as if she was about to speak, but instead swallowed whatever she was going to say in a nervous gulp. Mercedes' heart was beating out of her chest with anxiety and concern as she tried to keep her mind from jumping to the worst possible conclusions: was she hurt? Did someone she loved pass? All it took was a supportive squeeze of the shoulder for the answer to come tumbling out.

"Wait…what?" Mercedes blinked. Tina could have been speaking Klingon for all she understood of the rushed admission; it was the verbal equivalent of typing without spaces.

Tina had buried her red face in her hands after her word vomit. "Did you really not hear me, or are you trying to torture me…" she mumbled from behind her fingers.

"No, really, I didn't understand one word that came out of your mouth…was that even English?"

Tina let out a giggle that turned into a groan. She managed to pry her hands away from her burning face, but she still didn't look Mercedes in the eye. "Remember when you asked me why I didn't just go after Latte Boy myself?"

"Yeah. You said he wasn't your type."

"Which is true…but his not being my type has less to do with the fact that he's blonde than it does with the fact that he has a penis…"Tina murmured, tugging nervously on her braid.

"_Oh my god! You're a-_"

"Lesbian, yeah," she all but whispered. "I hope this doesn't make things weir-"

Before Tina could finish her sentence, she was tackled into one of Mercedes' famous hugs as she let a squeal of delight out right into her ear. Mercedes felt her friend collapse against her and let out a silent sob of relief.

"_Weird_? How could this make anything _weird_? Now when we go bar hopping I can finally return the favor and be an awesome wing woman!"

Tina laughed, clearly relieved. "Oh god, I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"You're damn straight you're in trouble. Four weekends of mortifying 'flirtatious' encounters _you_ 'hooked up' for me…you're about to have a taste of your own medicine."

"Damn. Well I guess I deserve it," Tina grinned. "I wanted to tell you sooner, I just didn't know how you'd take it. I've been out for a few years now and I've learned that not everyone is so…_tolerant_, you know?"

"T, you don't need to associate with anyone who doesn't accept you exactly the way you are, which is perfect." Mercedes squeezed her friend's hand. "But at the same time, I understand being apprehensive about people's reactions. People can suck. Lucky for you, I don't," she flashed Tina a winning smile.

"I don't know about all that, 'Cede…" Tina cracked, looking away.

"You're lucky we just shared an emotional moment, or you'd get it," she giggled. "And if you've been torturing me about my 'love life' while dating someone all this time without telling me, you still might."

"About that…"

Mercedes' eyes widened in shock. "_Tina oh my god_!"

"No! I mean…okay, so I'm not dating anyone currently…but there is someone that's recently come into the picture…"

"_Juicy…_spill!"

"The only thing is I don't think they know who I am." Mercedes listened as Tina told her the story of her summer at sleep away camp the summer before she started high school. She couldn't help but sigh wistfully as she heard the tale of Tina's summer romance with a leggy Latina who was sarcastic but sweet. Her heart broke when she heard of how they lost contact.

"We both found ourselves that summer. I didn't know whether I should look her up online, or whether she was out to her parents and friends or not – I mean it took me another year and a half just to tell my parents. So I didn't do anything, and after a while I didn't think she'd be interested anymore…after all, it was just a summer fling…"

"Except it wasn't, was it?" Mercedes asked Tina, softly.

"Not for me. I've dated a handful of girls since, but something in me just won't let her go, you know?"

"_Mhmm_," Mercedes intoned empathetically. There was definitely certain someone her mind wasn't gonna let her let go of anytime soon. "Wait," she perked up after a sudden realization, "you said she's back in the picture! Who is she? When can I meet her?" She was practically bouncing with excitement.

Mercedes looked on as Tina's cheeks once again flushed scarlet, and something clicked for her. "She goes here, _doesn't she_?" She watched as Tina nodded, studying the end of her braid and figured that she'd been through enough for one day; she wasn't about to make her play twenty questions. This part she would come to her with when she was good and ready. The pair went back to discussing musical arrangements and sang well into the afternoon when grumbling tummies forced them down to the dining hall for lunch.

* * *

><p>Sam stumbled down the stairs at half past six in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen.<p>

"Sammy! Up, up!"

He stopped short, blinking to focus on the blonde toddler in one of the Daily Grind's wooden high chairs. With a grin he scooped her up and settled her onto his hip, placing a kiss on the top of her head before heading further into the kitchen.

"I was expecting someone a little older and red headed this morning," he called out.

The rustling in the walk- in pantry stopped and laughter rang out, coming closer with each step. A young woman with a light blue scarf tying back her shoulder length blonde hair and laughing green eyes stepped out, her arms, cheeks, and apron dusted with flour. She embraced Sam and the toddler before getting back to the giant metal bowl of batter.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she grinned, adding a teaspoon of nutmeg to the bowl before restarting the mixer. "Though I'm a tiny bit older than Beth there…does that help any?"

Sam laughed as Beth giggled at the funny faces her mother was making. Quinn was part stand-up comedian, part pastry chef. Her and her husband, Noah, had come to town almost five years ago. She had just graduated from culinary school and followed her then fiancé who'd come to pursue his master's at Greyson.

Her first week in town, she'd come to the Daily Grind for a cup of coffee, took a bite of one of his aunt's blueberry scones and melodramatically bemoaned the fact that her scones were tasteless bricks compared to the perfection she was chewing. Emma was flattered, and brushed the compliment off modestly. The next day, Quinn brought her a basket of cinnamon crumble muffins and cranberry-lemon tarts to thank Emma for showing her the light when it came to scones. A few bites later, she was hired.

Two years later Noah earned his degree, Quinn earned a position as their full-time baker, and they both were sporting a pair of wedding bands. Between her professional technique and decadent aesthetic, and his aunt's intuitive flavoring, their collaborative efforts almost doubled business. The coffee shop began to cater parties and events all over the town and campus. Quinn and Emma became business partners, and good friends. And a year later, Quinn became the mother of a beautiful baby girl.

"It's good enough for me," Sam smiled. "Auntie Em said you might be a little late this morning."

"_Might_, which turned into wouldn't," she said, flitting about the kitchen gracefully. "Beth hadn't been feeling too great lately, so I thought it might hold me up, but it turned out to be just a few sniffles and a lot of fussiness."

"She gets that from her mom, _don't you, Beth_," he cooed, tickling the little girl and ignoring Quinn's glare in favor of the bubbly giggles. "How come she didn't just stay with Puck?"

"He has some kind of meeting in an hour, or else he would have just dropped her off on the way to his class later on." Noah earned a position as an assistant professor of criminology shortly after graduating with his master's.

He watched as she filled four lined muffin tins with the dark orange batter. Sam's eyes immediately lit up.

"_Are those-_"

"Yup, pumpkin-maple muffins." She placed the tins in the oven and turned to him with a stern look. "Samuel Evans if you touch even _one_ of them before they're cooled and ready to display, so help me god…"

"Okay, _okay_…jeez." He knew, however, that her warning was not unfounded. Every fall since she was first hired, Quinn made the most delicious muffins out of fresh pumpkin that were nutty and sweet with a mouth-watering maple glaze. He'd inhale a whole tray of them if he could be sure that she wouldn't hunt him down for it.

"Besides, a little birdie told me there might actually be something – or should I say someone – else you might want to get your hands on more than these muffins."

Sam froze, barely feeling the drum solo Beth was banging out on his shoulder as she hummed a tune. His heart palpitated as he racked his brain for how she could possibly know about Mercedes. It hit him. "I am going to kill Santana," he murmured.

"'Tana!" Beth beamed, clapping. _Of course, _he thought to himself, _of course she's a fan_.

"Don't worry, she hasn't told Emma, and she won't. She just saw the way you two interacted and thinks there's something there. She called last night and asked me for advice on how to give you a little kick in the pants, so I told her I'd do it."

"_Great_."

"Don't be like that, Sam. I don't know what's going on here, or what's she's like, but I trust San's judgment. I'm only gonna say this once: if you like her, or are 'intrigued by her' or whatever the nerdy phrase you wanna use is, then go for it. You deserve to be happy." Quinn smiled fondly at him, and started to clean up. "Trust me, I've got about five more years of wisdom than you do."

Sam felt his jaw clench and relax. As much as he hated that Santana blabbed about this, Quinn had a point. He needed to spend some time with Mercedes; partially because he needed to ascertain just what it was she was making him feel, and partially because he craved her company.

"Thanks, Q. I'll do that. As long as you promise never to have another awkward heart to heart with anyone but your daughter."

"Deal," Quinn laughed.

A thought occurred to him, and he grinned sheepishly. "So…I was supposed to help you or something, heh."

Quinn shook her head and bit back a laugh. "I can handle things back here, all I have left are some bagels that are done proving and ready to boil and bake. Just entertain Beth for me and make sure everything's set for brewing, okay?"

He nodded and left the kitchen with Beth still on his hip. Sam sang to her as he set everything up around the machines. She regaled him with stunning versions of "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider," "Twinkle Twinkle," and the alphabet song as he worked. At about fifteen after seven, his aunt came in and went straight to her office. Sam and Beth followed her up the stairs.

"Good morning, you two," she smiled as she turned on her computer.

"Auntie Em!" Beth all but leapt from Sam's arms to his aunt's.

"_Traitor_," he pouted at the little girl. She stuck her tongue out and buried her face into Emma's neck, giggling. "Quinn's almost done, and I have everything ready by the brewing station," he informed her.

"Great," she replied, logging in with her right hand, her left arm wrapped around Beth. "Oh, and Sam, I'm taking a long lunch today, so I'll need you to be here this afternoon. You can have the night off, though."

"No problem. What's the occasion?" He was taken aback when a slight flush crept across her cheeks.

"Just lunch with a friend," she murmured, not meeting his eyes. She focused her attention on the screen and absently patted Beth's back.

"The same friend you ran into yesterday…"

"Yes…"

"Auntie Em, who is this guy?" She looked up at him sharply, but he pressed on. "I mean, I get that you used to be friends in high school, but is he a good guy? What's his angle?"

"That's enough Sam," Emma said, flustered. "And he is a wonderful man. He's a doctor, in fact. So you have nothing to worry about." She looked up at him. "I'll take care of Beth, why don't you go open up and take the first few orders? I'll be down before it's time for you to leave for class, I just have a few things to take care of."

Sam wasn't quite satisfied with this doctor friend, but he decided to drop it. He wasn't trying to be nosy; it was just that after Will did a number on her, he was very protective of his aunt. She hadn't seemed interested in any men, as a friend or otherwise, since the breakup. He decided to keep an eye on this mystery guy the best he could, and if need be he'd pump Quinn for some information.

The first few customers trickled in and the day flew by for him. Before he knew it, he was out of his last class and near the end of his afternoon shift and things had slowed down a bit. Sam went to text Mercedes and ask her if she'd like to meet up when he realized one important detail: he didn't have her number. He panicked when he realized that he had no way of getting in touch with her and was beating himself up about it when he heard her.

"So are you gonna take my order, or…"

* * *

><p>Mercedes had to stop herself from laughing at the shocked look on Sam's face. She tried waving, but he seemed to be in his own little world.<p>

"S-sure, sorry about that." He shook his head as if to clear it, and smiled. She already loved that crooked little half smile. "The usual?"

"Surprise me," she winked. She wasn't sure why she did that, and immediately felt a bit self-conscious. Was she flirting with him? She didn't flirt, at least she didn't think she did. Suddenly, everything about her felt awkward: the way she was standing, the way her dress hung on her, and how exactly did her arms usually go?

"I'll do my best," he winked back, causing her heart to flutter. Mercedes saw something flash in his eyes and was instantly curious. She watched him make her coffee, seemingly lost in thought. "Hey," he began, "I get off in, like, ten minutes. Do you have time for a little chat? I'll come bearing snacks."

That smile was going to kill her one day, of that she was certain. "I'd love to," she replied, taking her coffee from him. Mercedes gasped when their hands brushed, expecting neither the little jolt it sent up her arm nor the way his long fingers lingered over her little ones. She ducked her head, a shy smile on her face, and headed to her usual spot in the corner of the shop.

Mercedes placed the mug on the little table and smoothed her skirt down before taking a seat. She did a quick mental check of her appearance and was quite satisfied; for a spur of the moment run down to the place where her crush worked, she didn't do half bad. An olive green off-the-shoulder tunic skimmed over black legging clad thighs, and on her feet were moccasins. Her curls were bouncy and her beanie was placed just so; her only other accessory was a small pocket watch she used as a pendant on a thin, long brass chain. The only advice she let Tina give her was to be casually cool, yet comfortable; she figured this worked.

Taking a deep sip of her beverage, she released a content sigh. It was perfect, of course – sweet and just a tiny bit spicy. Mercedes watched Sam work as she nursed her drink. He seemed so familiar with the customers, and they all looked happy to see him. She could definitely understand that sentiment. She smiled when he pinched the cheek of a customer's little boy and handed him some crayons and a coloring book. As if it wasn't enough that he was thoughtful, interesting, and devastatingly handsome, he was also good with children.

She decided to stop being a creeper and reply to a few texts she'd gotten on her phone – all except for Tina's barrage of "just do him already" messages. Mercedes made a mental note to kill her and took a deep sip from her cup.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

In an attractive move, she pretty much choked on the mouthful of coffee and sputtered a bit until she got it down. She hazarded a look in his direction and was mortified to find him sporting a concerned expression.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she coughed, clearing her throat. "I guess it's only fair, seeing as I totally startled you at the counter a few minutes ago."

"For sure," he grinned.

"Oh, and I'm thinking my surprise included some cinnamon and nutmeg."

Sam sat back, clearly impressed. "And a shot of vanilla; you know your spices!"

"I guess I have an excellent tongue." It took seeing Sam's raised eyebrows for Mercedes to realize what came out of her mouth. "Um- I_- I mean_, you know what I mean, heh," she stuttered, her face ablaze.

Sam simply shot her a knowing grin that made her want to both sit in his lap and hide under a table from embarrassment. "So I promised I would come bearing snacks, and being the gentleman that I am, I have," he announced, sparing her the embarrassment of rephrasing her comment.

"This pleases me," she smirked. "Present thine snackage, my good fellow."

"Well," he began, bringing a napkin wrapped treat out from behind his back, "since you're new around here, I thought this would be the perfect snack. It's one of my favorite things, and one of the most popular treats we make. I practically had to fight off half the student body to save this last one."

"Is that so?"

"Scouts honor," he grinned. "Mercedes Jones," he said, unwrapping the bundle, "I present you with the last pumpkin-maple muffin of the day." He handed her a delicious looking muffin, deep orange with a gooey, delicious looking glaze topped by a sprinkle of walnuts. Mercedes couldn't get over how amazing it smelled, or the way his eyes crinkled at her when he placed it in her hands.

"Sam, that looks amazing!" She inhaled the decadent smell and smiled. "I can see why these are your favorite. How many dozen have you had today?" Mercedes joked, lightly slapping his bicep. Even that brief touch told her there was a reason why he filled those Daily Grind tees out so well.

"Honestly, I haven't had one yet," he grinned, sheepishly, "this is the last one from our first batch of the season."

Her heart beat a bit faster at his response. How cute was he? Sam saved her his favorite treat without even keeping a bit for himself. She was flattered, and her crush got a little bit bigger. _Careful there, Mercedes, _she warned herself, _the fact that he set aside a muffin doesn't mean he's in love with you._

"How about we split it?" Mercedes broke the muffin into two pieces, and handed him the bigger half. His grin was akin to the one a child would sport on Christmas morning, and though she didn't quite realize it then, she fell a little bit in love with him in that moment.

Munching on the delicious muffin and sipping on coffee, the pair conversed for hours. They talked about their favorite holidays and traditions, what they had for lunch, and where they saw themselves in five years. They debated which republican candidate had the most screws loose (Santorum), what hot dog topping combination was the tastiest (mustard, relish, and onions), and which SNL weekend update team was the funniest (Sam stuck with Jimmy and Tina, while Mercedes swore by Seth and Amy). They talked about dreams and nightmares and sleepless nights, and before they knew it, it was closing time.

"Well, I've got to help get things cleaned up," Sam said, after he ushered the last customer out.

"Can I help with anything?" Mercedes knew she'd offer to clean, haul, or sort pretty much anything to extend her time with him. She was aware that it was a bit shameless, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," exclaimed Sam. _How wrong you are…_she thought to herself as she bent down to pick up her bag. "But I do want to ask you something else…"

Mercedes snapped up and tried not to register too much shock in her expression; after all, there was no way he was about to say what she thought he was going to say. "Yeah? Sure, ask away," she said in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Sam fidgeted a bit with the belt loop on his jeans before looking her in the eye. "I really like talking to you, you're an amazing person. I was just wondering if maybe you'd like to go to go to dinner tomorrow night."

"Like…a date?" As soon as the words left her mouth, Mercedes wished she could have stuffed them back in. If it was, in fact, a date, she ruined the moment by stating the obvious. And even worse, if it wasn't, she probably made things extremely uncomfortable. She swayed a little to distract herself from the tension.

"No, not _like_ a date."

"Oh." She began mentally preparing to transfer schools again.

"A _real_ date. Although I hear those imitation dates are quite realistic," he smirked.

Mercedes wanted to kiss the cherry lips that formed his impish little smile. Instead, she took his phone from the side table and programmed her number into it. "I'd like that."

"How does eight sound?"

"It sounds perfect," she smiled. He held out his arms and she stepped into his embrace. She couldn't help but notice how great he smelled, and how fast his heart was beating, and how warm and firm and wonderful his back felt underneath her fingers.

"Goodnight," he whispered into her ear.

"Goodnight, she whispered into his chest, when she remembered how to breathe. Mercedes reluctantly pulled away from Sam and turned to leave, her cheeks ablaze when she felt his eyes on her. Saturday night could not come fast enough.

* * *

><p><strong>How cute are they, right? And how precious is that Mertina friendship? It's one of my favorite things to write, and I hope I made my fellow Mertina fans proud.<strong>

**Next chapter is the date(s?), a little Artie, a little Puck, and a few other things...**

**As always, I love hearing your reactions, comments, and theories in the reviews. It makes my day! 'Til next chapter,**

**-Em**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: on 1st page**

**A/N: So...it's been a while...but I just couldn't abandon this - this ship just has a way of drawing me back in! It's just perf that way. I'm genuinely flattered and humbled at the amount of reviews/messages I got asking me to continue this fic (after almost two years!) and SOSN. You guys are amazing and are giving me lots of feels. **

**As always, this is un-beta'ed, so excuse any errors.**

* * *

><p>"Again, Sammy! <em>Please<em>?"

Beth Puckerman was all of two years old, and already had men all figured out – all it took was a little pink pout and a few blinks of her big hazel eyes before Sam gave her whatever she wanted. And on the off chance he decided to be a little firm and say no, she'd hit him with the "_Pweeeease Uncle Sammy?_" and he was yet again rendered powerless. She was all giggles and sunshine and sandy curls, the best of her parents all rolled up into one smart cookie.

So he was stuck watching yet another episode of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse as they colored. Watching Beth wasn't so much him babysitting her as it was her using him as her personal remote, toy wrangler, and snack butler – she had him wrapped around her chubby little finger and she knew it. As soon as she heard the opening notes of the theme song, she jumped up and sang and danced along to it, turning back to grin excitedly at him every so often. Sam decided that enduring six episodes of the insufferably falsetto mouse was more than worth it if it made her that happy.

He turned back to the problem set he was working on, and smiled as he shook his head. This wasn't exactly how he thought he'd spend his Saturday morning, especially the one before his date with Mercedes, but it was pretty nice. Quinn and Emma had an important gig catering brunch for a faculty event on campus - one that Puck was required to attend. Of course, no one thought to mention any of this to him beforehand, so when he was woken up by incessant knocking at eight in the morning, he was understandably confused. Sam opened the door to find Quinn sporting a dazzling smile, Beth on her hip and a bag in her hand.

"_Morning, Sam!" Quinn brushed past him and set the bag down on his desk chair_

_She was chipper._

_Too chipper._

"_Hi Quinn…what's…what's going on? Not that it's not great to see you, but I'm pretty sure I'm still asleep," Sam groaned, flopping back onto his bed._

"_So…Emma-and-I-have-this-catering-thing-until-4-and-we-need-to-finish-prep-and-Puck-is-busy-too-so-can-you-watch-Beth?"_

"_Wait, what?!"_

"_Santana and the new girl have downstairs covered, so don't worry about that. I really thought Puck could take her, but he can't. I know a college kid probably has better things to do with their Saturday morning, but I'll pay you!"_

_He waved her off. "Don't even worry about it," he yawned and rubbed his eyes, "has she eaten breakfast yet?"_

"_Yup. There are toys and snacks in the bag," Quinn paused at the door and flashed a grin, "snacks for _both _of you…bye!"_

_That got Sam up. He unzipped the tote bag and smelled them before he even unwrapped the package – pumpkin-maple muffins. He did a little victory dance that got Beth laughing and headed straight for the coffee maker._

It was a little after one o'clock when there was a knock at his door. Beth startled and snuggled into him, her eyes wide. Sam laughed and tried to settle her onto the sofa, but she wouldn't let go. She clung to his leg all the way to the door and hid behind it when a second knock came.

"Hello? Sam? I mean I hope this is Sam, I mean there's only one other door except the office on this floor, so I'm pretty sure – " the girl stopped when he opened the door and her eyes got even wider than Beth's. "Holy shit, you're hot!"

"Language!" Sam pointed to the toddler peeking out curiously from behind his leg. "And thanks, I think…"

"Sugar. I'm new. And sorry about the outburst, it just kinda…happens." She looked entirely unbothered and not at all sorry, but Sam took it in stride. "Santana sent me up here to deliver lunch for you guys," she handed him a paper bag full of tupperware, "she also said to say 'you're lucky Beth is here or else I would've let you starve.'"

"Of course. Classic." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Is that little cutie Beth?" she crouched down and smiled at the girl, who smiled back. "Hi, I'm Sugar!"

"Yummy!" Sam and Sugar laughed and Beth hid behind him again, bashfully.

"Well I better get back down. It was nice meeting you."

Sam waved goodbye and set lunch up for him and Beth. Grilled chicken, pasta, salad and even dessert - Santana could say what she wanted to, but he knew she'd always take care of him. Beth made a big show of using a fork and not her hands to eat. It was, apparently, what big girls do – along with pouting until he was impressed enough for her liking. They cleaned up after lunch and played for another couple hours. They were practicing her ABC's when he got a text from Puck:

"_I'm grading a few papers in my office, you can bring Beth."_

So Sam packed and bundled them up, and they made the trek to campus. The walk was nice, and Beth took it upon herself to play tour guide and name everything she could; from "Tana" downstairs to "ball" and "doggie" when they passed the park. This time he made sure to be thoroughly impressed so as not to disappoint her. As soon as they passed through the ornate wrought iron gates at the entrance of campus, Sam spotted a familiar face rolling in their direction.

"Sam Evans! How's it going? It's been a while, man."

Artie Abrams was his savior during his hellish freshman English composition class. Though his dyslexia had gotten a lot better after putting in work with a therapist when he was younger, it was still frustratingly difficult at times to produce a paper at the college level. Enter Artie; he patiently revised Sam's work and even spent extra hours with him at the Daily Grind on papers for a history class for nothing more than a coffee and some biscotti. They became good friends, though since Artie's grad school course load increased this semester, they'd barely seen each other.

"Too long," he said, slapping him five. Beth quickly ducked behind him and smiled shyly at Artie.

"And who is this?" Artie smiled at Beth and she surprisingly came out of her hiding place.

"Beth!" They laughed.

"Hi, Beth, I'm Artie."

"Hi! I'm going to see daddy." She smiled excitedly.

"Oh, that's nice," Artie looked up at Sam, "and who is daddy?"

"Noah Puckerman, he's a professor here. His wife is the baker at the 'Grind and they're friends of ours. I watch her sometimes."

"Oh, nice."

"Yeah, so what've you been up to, man?"

Artie shot him a tired look. "Between grad classes and being a TA for _two_ classes this semester, I'm too tired to have a life." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "I should've listened to my dad and went into comp sci – my old roommate is making six figures his second year out of college."

"Oh come on, you love this stuff. You're gonna make a great professor one day."

"Yeah, you're right. How's Emma? I gotta swing by one day, I miss it. It doesn't hurt that you guys have the best coffee on campus."

"You know it! She'd like to see you, we all would."

"You gonna be around later today?"

"Nah, I've got a date. Maybe tomorrow?"

"We'll see, I've got papers to grade - the glamorous life of a TA. Who's the unlucky girl?" He smirked up at Sam, who rolled his eyes at the good-natured teasing.

"Her name's Mercedes."

"Mercedes _Jones_?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah…why? You know her?"

"She's in one of my discussion sections. She's pretty cute and crazy smart…or at least I thought she was. She _did_ choose to go out with you…"

"Ha-ha-_ha_."

"It's funny, I actually ran into her earlier today…" he looked away, a slight frown on his face. Sam was just about to inquire what that was all about when he turned back to him. "If I'd known she was gonna go out with you later, I'd have warned her."

"_Thanks_," Sam replied, wryly. He couldn't help but notice that Artie's heart didn't seem to be in that last jab. What could have happened with Mercedes? Beth wriggled and fidgeted at his side. He looked down at her and she pouted up at him.

"_Daddy_?" she used the sugary sweet voice that came when asking for something for the last time before the imminent tantrum ensued.

"I better get Princess Beth here to her dad's. But definitely come through tomorrow, it'd be fun."

"Definitely. Later, man - bye, Beth!"

Beth, however, was too busy tugging Sam forward to respond.

They soon arrived at the social sciences building – to which Beth pointed at and said "daddy" – and walked upstairs to Puck's office. Little Miss Puckerman must have been there a few times because she raced towards his office door as soon as they entered the hallway.

"Daddy!" She ran up to him and put her arms up. "UP!"

"Hey, honey!" He lifted her up to sit on his desk. "Where's Sam?"

"Right here," Sam chuckled, "she beat me to the door. You might have a little track star on your hands."

"Wouldn't be surprised, her daddy is Puckzilla, after all." He flexed impressively.

"Nationally ranked football, basketball, AND baseball player in high school AND college, I _know_. Give it a rest, old timer." Sam rolled his eyes and took a seat.

"As long as you're aware, grasshopper." He leaned back in his desk chair and smugly put his arms behind his head. "Your jealousy is only natur- ELIZABETH PUCKERMAN, just _what _do you think you're doing?" Noah's daughter looked up at him with his same big hazel eyes and her mother's dazzling smile. Sam hid a smile when he saw him soften a bit; it was good to know he wasn't the only one falling under her adorable spell.

"Helping Daddy!" Beth beamed up at her father, his red felt-tip correcting pen clutched in her chubby fist, gesturing at the "helpful" marks she scribbled on the third page of a criminal sociology paper he'd been marking. Sam chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the conflicting amusement and panic in Puck's eyes.

"Th-_Thanks_, honey! But daddy's gonna finish this up, okay?" He gently eased the pen from her tight grip. "Why don't you ask Sam to give you a toy from the bag?"

"Okay!" Beth motioned for her father to put her back on the ground. She toddled over to the bag and peered in. "Cookie Monster, please," she requested, primly. He handed her the fuzzy blue toy. She stared at him expectantly so he tried handing her Elmo, but she didn't want it. Sam looked at Puck for help, but he shrugged. He was about to reach for another doll when he felt her little hand on his.

"_No_," Beth said, rummaging around in the bag for a minute. "_Cookie_." She waved the plastic chocolate chip cookie that must have come with the stuffed animal. She fixed him with a side eye that was a replica of a look he'd gotten many times from her mother, and headed to the small couch to play.

"Sometimes I feel like Quinn had a little version of herself to torment me," he laughed, shaking his head. Puck chuckled.

"I hope she wasn't too much trouble. You watching her was a big help. I know it was short notice too, so thanks." Puck smiled, sheepishly. "Probably not the most fun way for a college guy to spend his Saturday, but you really came through."

"She was fine, and don't worry about it. It was a welcome distraction, actually…"

"Really?" Puck put an essay back onto the pile. "From what?"

If he was honest, the date with Mercedes had him nervous – _very_ nervous. They were good nerves; if he were a girl, he'd probably call them butterflies, but he wasn't. It wasn't that he didn't have experience - he did. He'd dated quite a lot, in fact; rich girls, "model-esque" girls, sporty girls, smart girls, _not_-so-smart girls, etc. But the fact remained that there were very few, if any, that got under his skin the way Mercedes did, and certainly not so soon after meeting them. And suddenly, maybe for the first time, he was worried about impressing someone special. He knew exactly what to do, say, and buy (the most important part for a Greyson girl) for a lot of them – who to be. But when it came to Mercedes, the girl he couldn't quite figure out, the girl to whom he'd effortlessly revealed so much so soon, he was certain he couldn't be anyone but himself.

And he was scared that wouldn't be enough.

It really didn't make any sense. Sure, he knew some things about her, but they'd only really talked a few times. There was so much he didn't know; she could end up being a terrible person, or boring, or self-absorbed. But somehow, even though he didn't know exactly what to make of her, he knew that couldn't possibly be true, his rational mind be damned. Something told him pursuing her would upset all of the rules he'd lived by for years. What's more, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"There's this girl…"

"_My man_! High five!" Puck jumped up and offered his hand.

Sam reluctantly smiled and high fived him. "Yeah, but it's weird. See, I have a date with her tonight-"

"And…that's a _problem_?"

"Well, no. Obviously not." Sam quieted for a minute, searching for the words to tell him what the problem really was. "Have you ever really, I mean _really_ liked someone-"

"Uh. Yeah.." Puck picked up his left hand and pointed to the gold wedding band, smirking, "you could say that I have."

Sam flushed. "Well, yeah. But I mean almost the second you met them. Puck…this girl, she's-" he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed, "We're going out tonight, and I..I can't figure it out, but she's different – good different."

This wasn't the first time Sam had come to Puck for advice. Emma had outdone herself raising him, but there were some things only a man could understand. With ten years between them, Noah Puckerman was the older brother he never had, and (if he was to be believed) quite the ladies man before he got with Quinn.

Puck sat back in his chair and chuckled – not exactly the response Sam was looking for.

"_What_," Sam asked with a withering stare,"is so funny about anything I just said?"

He shook his head with a small smile. "Nothing, look, at the end of the day, you really like her, right?"

"Right…"

"And she seems to be a nice girl, cute, funny, etc.?"

"Yeah."

"So why are you overcomplicating things? Just go out and have a good time. She likes you, or else she wouldn't have said yes and at this point that's all that matters. _Jesus_, Sam...be young and _live_ a little. I know you over think stuff, but sometimes you just gotta take a breath, step back, and enjoy. Okay?"

Sam would be lying to himself if he didn't admit he felt a little silly. After all, what was the big problem? That he had a date with a girl? That he didn't know every single detail about her after a week? Thankful for the perspective, and mindful of the time, he rose to go. "You're right, thanks."

"Any time."

Sam walked over to Beth to say goodbye and she dismissed him with a cool "bye" and not so much as a glance. He supposed she didn't need him anymore, now that she had her dad…but ouch.

"I don't get a hug?"

"_Okay_." She hopped off the couch with a huff and hugged him quickly, racing back to her toys. Sam put his hands over his heart and shot a look of mock hurt at Puck, who just laughed.

"She's no nonsense, dude – sorry, but it's playtime." They laughed. "Have fun tonight, Sam. And who knows…different isn't always bad. I once dated a girl that was as opposite from my 'type' as could be – she kept me on my toes and I loved every minute of it."

"Wow. What happened with her?"

"Well, a few years, a couple thousand pastries, and a ring later…her," Puck smiled, pointing at the busy toddler.

* * *

><p>She'd be happy if she never saw another math problem in her life.<p>

Mercedes shook her head as she got up from her corner of the reading room. Calculus was no joke, and it meant that she had to spend half her Saturday cooped up on the third floor of the library. It wasn't entirely unpleasant – the room had multiple skylights and was painted in light, airy colors. It's just that she'd always thought that math was cut and dry; there was a problem, and then there was a solution – _one _definite answer.

And then calc came along and there were all these limits that didn't exist and lines that never quite approached their values. So much uncertainty for a subject that was supposedly rooted in the concept of an equation and its answer. The rumbling of her stomach reminded Mercedes that she had something a little higher on her priority list. She regretted not eating anything but a granola bar in the morning – if she'd known she'd be working on problem sets through lunch – and her nerves had permitted it – she would've had a proper meal.

Pushing open the heavy oak doors, she walked onto the green of campus and welcomed the brisk breeze. She was halfway to the dining hall and decided to text Tina to see where she was – she didn't like to eat alone if she didn't have to. Mercedes reached into her pocket and realized, with horror, that she forgot her phone at the library. She said a silent prayer and whirled around to run back, only to practically fall into her TA's lap.

"Oh my _god_!" Mercedes was mortified. "I am so sorry Artie! I'm such a klutz!"

Artie laughed, a flush creeping into his cheeks. "No problem. It's not every day a girl falls into my lap."

She wanted to die.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, a-okay. Speaking of which, you aced your midterm! Your essay was insightful." He smiled, warmly.

She did a mental happy dance until she remembered the reason she almost killed him in the first place. "Thanks! But I forgot my phone in a reading room, so I have to run…" A loud buzzing noise came from her school bag. Relief and slight embarrassment flooded her system. "Or not, haha. Thank god."

"Today seems to be your day, huh?" They laughed together. "See you around." She was a few steps away when she heard him call her name. "Mercedes? I just have a quick question…"

She walked back to him. "Sure, what's up?" Artie looked a bit conflicted, and more than a little uncomfortable. _"Uh-oh,"_ she thought to herself, "_this can't be good._"

He nervously cleared his throat before he began. "I know this might be slightly inappropriate, but I have to ask. You're friends with Tina Cohen-Chang, right?"

Oh Lord. "Yes…"

"Is she seeing anyone, currently?"

This cannot be happening. "Not that I know of…"

"Do you think…?" Artie was red as a beet, his hands clutched nervously in his lap. "Do you think she'd ever go for me, you know, after the semester's over?" He adjusted his glasses and swallowed, hard.

Mercedes didn't know what to say without potentially revealing too much. Her mind raced with ways to gently, subtly, and effectively reply to him, the silence growing more awkward with each passing second.

"I don't know how to say this, Artie…I don't think you're quite her type. Not that you're not really smart and cool, but even though she's technically single, I think she may have her eye on someone special." She saw him crumple with each word that came out of her mouth, and she hated that she had to do this to him.

"I see…"

"I'm sorry, Artie. I just want to be honest. I think you're really great, and I respect you too much to beat around the bush about it, you know?"

He smiled weakly up at her. "I appreciate it, Mercedes. Thanks for giving it to me straight, I'll be fine. See you in class?"

"Yeah, see you-"he rolled away before she finished her sentence. She felt horrible. And hungry. Horribly hungry. She looked at her watch, it was half past two. If she hurried up and ate she could spend a few precious hours at one of her favorite spots, The Dog Ear, a used bookstore in Greyson Square. After a rushed meal she started downtown, and the twenty minute walk in the crisp air did a great deal to help clear her head.

Mercedes couldn't help the content smile that spread across her face the second she opened the weathered red door. She'd been a bookworm from the minute she could read a Dr. Seuss book on her own. The allure of being able to escape and have adventures by burying her nose between pages never faded. Even though she had an impressive library on her e-reader, there was something about the feel and smell of a book, especially an old one, that nothing could ever replace.

She nodded hello to Joe, the twenty-something, lanky, dread-head hippie that ran the place. They'd had a few discussions about their favorite works now and then, he was quite nice – not to mention easy on the eyes. Leisurely perusing the newest additions, Mercedes happened upon a well-loved, leather bound copy of The Arabian Nights. It was thick, heavy, and beautifully bound and illustrated. She knew she had to have it. The story of a courageous woman with a penchant for weaving intoxicating tales was right up her alley.

Joe smiled knowingly at her when she placed the book next to the register. "I knew you'd want it. We just got it in a couple of days ago. If you didn't come in by tomorrow, I'd have set it aside for you."

She was flattered. "You're the best!" Mercedes flashed a dazzling smile at him. "How much?"

"Twenty-five bucks. But for you? Fifteen."

"Really? That's so sweet of you!"

He grinned as he gave her a five in change. "It's nothing. I think your spot is free upstairs. Enjoy." He winked scandalously at her before turning to the next customer.

She ignored the warmth in her cheeks and headed up the winding wooden staircase that sat smack dab in the middle of the first floor. Mercedes loved the big old rocking chair in a corner of the non-fiction section. It was quiet and comfortable, the perfect place to dig into a story.

Three hours and approximately 30 Arabian nights later, she decided it was time to head back. When she stepped off the dorm elevator she found Tina sitting down the hall outside her door, typing on her phone. Mercedes felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It was Tina – "_Where are you?!_"

She plopped down next to her. "Here." Tina jumped and took out her earbuds, glaring.

"Dammit. Don't do that! And don't you have a date in less than two hours?!"

"Yes…"

"Are you nervous? It's okay if you are," she said in a gentler tone.

"No, actually. I woke up today and thought I would be, but I'm much more nervous about my calc midterm on Tuesday." Mercedes unlocked her door, chuckling softly. "I'm just excited." She grinned at her friend.

Tina jumped up and practically pushed her into the room. "Good. That's how it should be. Now go shower! Did he tell you where you're going?"

"No…"

"Damn. It doesn't matter, I can still work my magic. Now go!" She dove into her friend's closet.

Mercedes bit back a laugh as she gathered her shower caddy and robe. As she made her way to the showers, she felt the butterflies she'd been ignoring all day start back up. She was excited, but she was also the tiniest bit nervous – try as she might to hide it. She stepped into the spray and let the hot water melt her anxiety away.

* * *

><p>Sam smoothed the last of the product through his golden locks and stepped back to scrutinize his image in the floor length mirror on his bathroom door. It took him a little longer than the usual five seconds to decide what to wear to dinner - longer than he'd be willing to admit. He'd settled on a crisp dark grey button up, dark wash jeans, and his lucky black leather jacket. It wasn't actually lucky - he just felt like a badass in it – still, he figured it couldn't hurt. He didn't look half bad.<p>

He looked at his watch; it was almost a quarter to eight. He'd have to leave to get Mercedes in a minute. After one last glance in the mirror and a quick pat check for his phone and wallet, he headed down the stairs to find Santana and Sugar cleaning up.

"Closing already?" Santana looked at him and he fought his hardest not to laugh. Her expression told him that her first day with the newest hire hadn't been a picnic.

"Yup," Santana grunted.

"Long day?" Sugar nodded, meekly stealing glances at her co-worker.

"The fucking longest," his friend mumbled, darkly.

He leaned against the counter, smirking at Santana. She might as well have a cartoon storm cloud over her head, that's how terrible she was at hiding her temper. He turned to Sugar, who kept glancing warily over her shoulder while she wiped down the espresso machine. "How was the first day?"

"Great…" she answered brightly, watching as Santana ducked into the back. "Terrible. It was terrible. It's bad enough my parents made me get a stupid job, but now it's my first friggin' day and I had that dragon lady breathing down my neck the whole time!"

Sam saw the steel doors to the kitchen swing open "Um…it couldn't have been _that_ bad, right? Santana means well…"

"Does she? Because she was being a _total_ b-"

"Finish that sentence and don't bother coming back."

Sugar whirled around, wide-eyed and sputtering. "I'm sorry, it was just really _hard_ and you weren't helping!"

Santana gave her a deadly, saccharine smile. "I'm reasonably human. It was your first day and you're frustrated," she began, in a sickly, venomously sweet tone. "Go home, and come back tomorrow with a better attitude, or don't come back at all, 'kay _sweetcheeks_?"

Sugar nodded and grabbed her bag from beneath the counter, leaving without so much as a backwards glance.

"_San_…"

"I know, I _know_, play nice with the newbie," she huffed, plopping a dish towel on the counter. "It's just that even after two afternoons of training she is _utterly_ incompetent. She fucked up an Americano - how do you mess that up?! It's literally hot water and espress- _oh..._" Santana trailed off and fixed her gaze over Sam's shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Sam, you have company," she purred, eyebrow arched mischievously. He heard a knock at the door and turned around.

She was…_wow_.

"So are you gonna wipe that drool off your chin and let her in, or… 'cause that door is locked…"

Sam sprang into action a little too suddenly, tripping a bit in full view of both his date and his good-for-nothing snickering best friend. He opened the door and grinned down at her. "Hey," he breathed.

"Hi," she replied, equally breathless.

She looked amazing – from the way her black sweater-dress clung to her curves, to the delicious berry gloss of her lips, to the badass black leather boots. And of course, perched atop the soft waves of her hair, was a beanie.

"So are y'all gonna come inside, or…"

"Right," Sam felt a flush creep into his cheeks, "come on in." He shot Santana a warning glance which, of course, didn't faze her. "You look…stunning."

Mercedes shot him a warm, dimpled smile. "Thank you. I'll tell my floormate she did a good job." She chuckled softly, bashfully lowering her gaze.

"Yes ma'am. She did that! You look good enough to eat!"

"_Santana_…" Sam was going to kill her. Thankfully Mercedes laughed, loudly.

"Thanks girl! I'll pass the message along."

The slim brunette perched herself up on the counter and blew a small bubble with her gum. "So where are ya'll going-"

"_Santana_!"

"Okay, _okay_, I'm leaving. I know when I'm not wanted. Although, they lied when they said three's a crowd." She cast a flirtatious gaze at Mercedes. "With the right people, it's a party." With a flip of her long, dark ponytail and a swish of her hips, she disappeared into the kitchen.

Sam was on the verge of popping a gasket, when he felt Mercedes looking up at him with a deliciously wry smile on her lips.

"Santana's a trip, huh?" She giggled melodically. He let out a long sigh.

"You have no idea."

"I feel like I'll find out, eventually." They laughed.

"You know," he began, "I was just on my way to come pick you up. Why'd you walk here?"

"Well that's very chivalrous of you and all," she said, teasingly, "but Tina was driving me up the wall, and it's the perfect kind of chilly outside, so I figured I'd walk over."

"Well I was gonna drive, and I still can, but would you want to walk it?"

"Where are we going?"

"Sushi at Uni, it's a nice place in Greyson Square, it's like 10 minutes from here. We could-"and then something important occurred to Sam, something he maybe should have thought about ahead of time. "Unless you're, like, allergic to fish? Oh god you_ are_, aren't you?!"

"Actually, sushi is my third favorite thing to eat like, ever." Her eyes twinkled in amusement. "And I'd love to walk."

Sam nearly sagged in relief. He opened the door for her, and they started downtown. They fell into an easy conversation, and about a block and half into the walk, their hands brushed. It was electric – it sent a jolt up Sam's arm the same way it had when he handed her coffee the other day. That brush led to another, and another couple blocks later, they were walking hand in hand, pace slowed, savoring the verbal conversation as well as the tactile.

They were seated near the wall-long tank at Uni, which lead to some silly impressions on both their parts. Sam forgot all of the nerves he had leading up to this – he couldn't even remember why he was nervous about it in the first place. Whatever this was with Mercedes was new, but felt familiar and comfortable; it didn't have any of the usual "first date" awkwardness. He didn't care anymore that she didn't fit his rigid paradigm - he'd done an impression of a goddamn _eel_ within the first five minutes of being seated, for fuck's sake. And she _laughed_, genuinely.

They talked about their days, and Mercedes cracked up at his description of his day with Beth.

"She sounds like a handful and I love it! A lot like my little sister at that age – little divas."

"Elizabeth Puckerman is a diva extraordinaire. It's her world, and we're all just living in it," he laughed.

She told him about her dentist father's melodramatic monthly lamentations of her decision to pursue a degree in English, the trip to Kenya she took the previous summer to teach EFL, that one time in fourth grade when she hung upside down off the monkey bars and exposed her Powerpuff Girls undies (Buttercup, she never lived it down), and love of all things retro.

He told her how a skinny, knock-kneed little girl defending him against some grade school bullies led to a life-long friendship, how he wanted to use his degree to be more than just a banker, how he secretly sneaks pastries up to his apartment when Quinn isn't looking, and how every time she smiles it makes him want to kiss her even more.

That last part (while true) might have slipped out after a bit of sake.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and a sexy smile spread slowly across her full lips. "Lucky for you the night's not quite over…"

Sam grabbed her hand and grazed her knuckles with a light kiss. "No, it isn't," he murmured against her soft hand. He was satisfied to see her gasp softly, her mouth dropping slightly open at the contact.

Ordering the green tea ice cream, though it was delicious, ended up being torturous for Sam. If he had to watch her pillowy lips slide over that spoon one more time, he was going to have to kiss her right there and then, chivalry be damned. As if she could read his thoughts, she offered him the last bite which he of course insisted she have.

"I couldn't!"

"You kinda have to have it. It's in the gentleman's code – subsection 57-J."

She chuckled throatily. Slowly, she scooped up the last bit and savored it, licking an errant drop off the spoon.

She was trying to kill him.

Warmed from sake and flirtation, they made their way back to campus. The walk back was very different, there was very little conversation – of the verbal sort, that is. The way he guided her out of the restaurant with his hands caressing the small of her back said quite a bit, as did the way she threaded her arm through his, gently stroking his bicep. Sam's hands may have lingered a bit when he placed his jacket on her shoulders.

Their eyes said even more; from the shy, innocent smiles to the gazes of a not-so-innocent nature. Soon they reached the courtyard outside her dorm room, and settled onto a bench, neither of quite ready to say goodnight. He wrapped his arms around her, both of them feeling a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. And in a moment as natural and intense as the rest of their acquaintance thus far, his lips met hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Later on HTMS: a <strong>**bit of Mercedes perspective on the date, ****Santina goodness, and more.**

**I really hope you guys liked it. Writing this felt like catching up with an old friend.**

**As always, I'd love it if you took a second to leave a comment, reaction, or prediction in the reviews. They make my day!**

**-Em**


End file.
